by Joanna Wiebe
“You think I should pull the plug…on myself.”
He sighs and, taking me in his arms, buries his face in my hair. “I just want you forever.”
“What if your spirit’s gone when I die, Ben? What if you don’t wait for me?”
He cups my face in his hands and brings his lips to mine, softly. I am like a starving prisoner; I ravenously consume what little he gives me and wait, hopefully, for a bit more. Which he, as always, withholds.
“I will wait for you. Forever,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “But please don’t ask me to throw away the time I have left with you. Especially not for the slim chance of winning the Big V.”
I let him run his hands over my hair and give me that imploring look of his, and I even let him lay me down on the bed again and spoon me just as he described doing in another life, a real life. It’s not until the movie ends and he hands me the flannel pajamas Molly brought for me that I stop letting him get away with making this fantasy whatever he wants it to be. I’ll play along, but only if I can make it mine, too.
“I’ll give you some privacy to get changed,” he says.
He’s about to shimmy under the garland to wait in the kitchen. But I take hold of his arm as he’s leaving and turn him back to me.
“No,” I say.
“Do you need something?”
I nod. And I kiss him. “Come here.” I tug him back to the other side of the bed, and there I coerce him into sitting. “Stay right here.” I back away slowly, keeping my gaze fixed on his, which lets me see his intrigued expression pass right by confusion and turn, in a flash, to concern. “I had a great time Christmas shopping with you today, Mr. Zin.”
“What are you doing, Anne?”
I flick off all the lights except the twinkle ones. And I stand before him again. In one movement, I take my pullover off.
“I just love Christmas shopping in New York, don’t you, baby?”
He swallows. “Anne.”
“Don’t you?”
Appearing torn, he concedes. And watches my sweater fall to the floor. “FAO Schwarz. It’s…so…intense.”
“It is.” I take off my socks, then I unbutton my pants. My eyes don’t leave his, not even when I tug my jeans down and lay them over the back of a chair. His gaze flickers, like he wants to look at my exposed skin, skin he’s never seen before. “Remember how, years ago, we had that amazing Christmas Eve on Wormwood Island?”
Ben’s face pales. “Anne, come on.”
“Did you think that was gonna happen?”
His gaze washes over me, standing in my t-shirt and underwear. “Remind me what happened.”
“How could you forget, Mr. Zin?”
With that, I lift my t-shirt over my head. I’m about to straighten my hair when, with a choked voice, he asks me not to.
“God, I love your hair,” he whispers. His breath is short. “I always picture it down and wild. Covering you. A little.” He swallows again. “But not completely.”
“It was down that night in Gigi’s house. Remember?”
He nods and moves to stand, but I shake my head and wait until he sits again. He arches his eyebrow, and I might think I’d pushed things too far if his approval—his enthusiastic approval—didn’t show in other ways. I step toward him. He shifts back on the bed. I’m standing before him, and my hair is covering me when I unhook my bra; as if I do this all the time, I slip it off, letting it fall to the floor. Ben’s gaze is a lost cause. I straddle him to reclaim attention on my face.
His eyes have never been so beautiful.
He moves to kiss me, but I lean back.
“That was the night,” I say, “that you agreed to fight for the Big V.”
He flinches. His breath is audible, so heavy.
“Would you like me to do for you tonight what I did for you that night?” I ask him.
“More than anything,” he says. And I believe it.
So I whisper into his ear, “Agree to fight, Ben.”
He nuzzles his nose against my neck. “Anne, I’d love to.”
Would love to…but won’t.
I push him back so I can see the resignation on his face. There it is. That unmovable, stubborn resolve to die. No matter what I do, no matter how I try.
So I stand, grab my clothes, and tell him where he can stuff his fantasy. I’ve barely dressed when I slam the door, cutting off his weak protests, and run through the snow up to campus.
eleven
UNDER SCRUTINY
AMONG THE HUM OF A HUNDRED STUDENTS AND THEIR Guardians on the main floor of what is normally a vacant library, Pilot holds up a flashcard for me and stares me down from the other side of it:
D in F in a L Y [—] T on an O [ x ] L of a C
“Gimme a sec,” I mumble at Pilot as I scratch my calculations on the wood of the little cubby desktop. Cubicles like ours line both walls of the narrow, dark corner in which we’re studying.
Molly is sitting at a long table near us. She’s the only one in here without a Guardian, and she’s piggybacking off my session with Pilot, to his great irritation.
Ben is not among the 100 sweating, fretting students. I don’t know where he is.
The Scrutiny is tomorrow morning. We won’t know what the challenge is until we’re in it, and that’s got everyone on edge—except Molly, who never lets anything get to her. The best we can do is to rely on what our Guardians know about past challenges.
“You won’t have a freakin’ breath to spare tomorrow,” Pilot groans.
“The answer is…189.”
The flashcard hits the desk. “Did you double up on your idiot pills today, Merchant?”
“That’s not right?”
“You might as well just throw in the towel for the Big V now.”
“You’re an exceptionally motivating coach, Pi—anyone ever tell you that?”
“It’s negative forty-three. So obvious.”
“Ack! Order of operations—what a dumb thing to mess up on,” I say with a laugh. He jabs his tongue into his cheek like I’m really pissing him off. “Oh, come on, Pilot. Don’t act like you would’ve known that if it wasn’t written on your side of the card. Can you even translate this calculation?”
His eyes glaze over the flashcard as he glances at it.
“This first part here means ‘days in February in a leap year,’” I explain, pointing, “which is twenty-nine. And this is ‘tentacles on an octopus,’ so eight. So twenty-nine minus eight, but that’s where I went wrong because it should have been eight times—”
“Oh, hell, Anne, this isn’t about my brain!” He throws the card aside and pulls out another one. “You’re gonna be on your own. Focus on your brain.”
It’s tough to focus. I haven’t talked to Ben since Christmas Eve, and it’s New Year’s Eve now. I wish he would have learned from my blowup at Gigi’s house and reconciled with Garnet, but he didn’t. (Garnet chastised me in front of the whole class just this morning.) Ben keeps giving Molly apology notes for me, which she hands me with this sad face that makes me wonder whose side she’s on.
“Remind me why on Earth I’d need to do these calculations in the challenge,” I say to Pilot.
“Last year, Villicus put us through a geocaching drill. We all started at different points on the island and with different directions. Did he just give us the coordinates? Hellz no! He asked us things like ‘If each child in a family has at least five brothers and three sisters, move west ten times the minimum number of children in the family.’”
“One hundred degrees west.”
“Try ninety.”
“Try 100. Each brother needs five brothers—that’s six—and each sister needs three sisters—that’s four. So ten. Times ten.”
“BFD.” He rolls his eyes. “Don’t be too impressed with yourself, Merchant. There’s no pressure on you right now. And the Scrutiny challenges go way beyond logic puzzles. All these demon guys, they love screwing with words and sounds to mess your sad littl
e human brain up.”
“My sad little brain? L of a C means lives of a cat. Nine lives. Nine times eight is seventy-two—”
“That’s just math with a smidgen of word gamery.”
“Gamery is not a word.”
“What about chronograms, mondegreens, sobriquets, and—oh, Jesus—their favorite: anagrams? You ready for those?”
He has no idea I’ve decoded the names of almost all the school staff. No one knows. Over the past few months, I’ve been chipping away at my list, and I’ve discovered that Eve Risset has the power to sever ties, Aseat Weinchler can increase wealth, and Trey Sedmoney can destroy enemy. I’d be unstoppable if I could actually do anything with that knowledge.
“Need I remind you, Pilot, that your hero, Villicus, is gone b’bye? Dia’s not gonna make us geocache or rearrange anagrams. He’s got more imagination than that.” The nearest door swings open, and my heart skips, hoping to see Ben. But Hiltop pokes her irritating little bobbed head in. “Speak of the devil.”
Hiltop’s leer lands on me and Pilot. She scoffs. She still thinks it’s oh-so-funny that I have to endure Pilot as my Guardian. Her head swivels to the table where Molly sits, and she pushes the door open further, revealing her companion.
“Teddy!” Molly exclaims, a relieved smile bursting across her pretty face. “Come. Sit.”
I watch in slow motion as Teddy crosses the floor, keeping his gaze fixed on Molly, never looking at me. He warned me once to put on a good show of detesting him so no one guesses that we’re allies, and it’s never been easier to do as he says. After all, he’s not only left me here without checking in, but he’s also abandoned my best friend, who deserves better from her Guardian.
I wait for Hiltop to walk, in her stilted way, out of earshot before I address Teddy.
“It’s about time,” I hiss at him.
Teddy simply opens his book and looks at Molly. “Apologies for my delay.”
“Hey! I’m talking to you, Teddy.”
Pilot kicks me under the table. “Hello? I’m your Guardian now. Focus. We have work to do.”
I can’t believe Teddy’s just going to ignore me.
A rush of cold sweeps through our far corner of the library. The front doors are wide open, letting whirling gusts of snowflakes in, which are followed by Headmaster Voletto, the Seven Sinning Sisters, and at least 100 snow-dusted students and Guardians.
Dia claps the snow off his gloves and unwraps his scarf as students fan out, looking for a free spot to sit or stand in the crowded library. Just as the front doors are closing, I spy Ben sliding in. Our gazes lock. He looks beautiful. I’m the first to glance away.
“Why’s everyone here?” I ask Pilot to keep from looking at Ben.
“A preamble to the Scrutiny,” Pilot explains. “Like a pep talk.”
Ben is weaving my way. I pretend not to notice.
Dia unzips his Canada Goose parka and hangs it on the back of Plum’s chair; she must think nobody’s watching because she trails her fingertips longingly along the jacket’s furry hood. Ira and Avaritia, dressed like their sisters in white chinchilla and silk scarves that put the Model UN from Hell’s wardrobes to shame, close the library doors, sealing us in, as Invidia and Superbia quiet the room.
The library is standing room only. I keep my gaze locked ahead, on nothing at all, as Ben approaches the small desk Pilot and I are at; he pauses next to me and then sidles into the large gap between our cubby and the one next to it, where he leans against the wall.
“Evening, everyone!” Dia calls. “Are you ready for the Scrutiny tomorrow?”
The well-trained student body, constantly seeking the headmaster’s approval, hoot their replies. Just like Pilot said, this is starting to feel like a pep rally. I turn my attention on the front of the room, where Dia smiles, rubs his hands together, and begins walking between the tables. Sensing someone watching me, I see Hiltop, who is standing just behind Jack, Agniezska, and Emo Boy, with her eyes on me. She’s always watching me. But she never actually does anything. She has more reason than anyone to want to destroy me, but she just stares. Like she’s waiting. Not to pounce, but to see what I might do.
And I, as always, ignore her.
“I can feel the excitement in here,” Dia says, shaking a senior lightly by the shoulders, “and for good reason! Look at you beautiful souls. Studying up a storm. Turning that gray matter red hot. And everyone that was outside running laps, climbing trees, and whatever else you nuts get up to,” he laughs, “good for you! The more prepared you are for what tomorrow brings, the better your chances of winning, naturally. But, my passionate friends, don’t forget the most important rule of all. Don’t forget the foundation of your success. Who can tell me what I’m referring to?”
Harper’s hand flies up. “To live by our PTs.”
“Very good,” he says, eyeing her approvingly. Then he looks straight at me. “Your PT will get you through this.” His gaze skips away.
I hear Ben half cough. I know what he’s thinking. Although we never talk about it, I know he’s been curious about my weekly mentoring sessions with Dia. I’ve been careful not to talk too enthusiastically about Dia. Ben would think I was venturing to the dark side if I told him that, in spite of being the devil he is, Dia has been amazing for my growth as an artist.
“Trust in your greatest strengths,” Dia says, “however vicious they may be!” Someone claps. Someone follows. “After all, they’re not vicious. You’re not vicious. You’re survivors!” More clapping. Not thunderous, but some. “Your personal strengths and unmatched qualities will see you through. You’re only savage in the eyes of people who don’t understand you now, people who don’t know what it’s like to be you. Like your parents. And the friends you left behind. Friends who attended your funerals,” Dia pauses and looks sadly at a small freshman, stroking her cheek as he does, “and then moved on. Trust yourselves, students.” His gaze skips to mine. “Trust your PT.” And away. “Work your butt off in tomorrow’s Scrutiny. Because I have a surprise for you.”
Dia stops in the center of the room, and the Seven Sinning Sisters make a half circle around him.
“This surprise is really something,” he says, turning his captivating smile on us. “Should I tell you what it is, or should I delay the pleasure of knowledge until tomorrow?”
The room begs him to tell us. He obviously relishes their begging. I say nothing.
“The Scrutiny begins first thing in the morning. Most of you will find yourselves in it. But a select few will have something different in store.”
Dia walks, veering through the narrow gaps left between chairs and book bags, until he’s standing before me. It’s so intentional; he made a beeline straight to me. I hear Ben shuffle his feet.
“Would you like to hear the surprise, Miss Merchant?” Dia asks.
The hundreds of eyeballs that turn in my direction are freezing beams. I can’t move. Why single me out? Why stand in front of me? Why do this now…to me…with Ben watching and with things so shaky between us?
“Um, sure,” I mumble.
Dia scoffs and turns to the room. “Miss Merchant doesn’t like surprises.”
Everyone boos. The Model UN from Hell heckles me.
“Okay, I’d love to hear the surprise,” I say.
“So you say.” Taking a deep breath, Dia pushes his hand through his thick hair and very suggestively moans, “Now make me feel it, Anne.”
Pilot kicks my chair. I hear Molly gasp out a laugh. Teddy’s eyes narrow. I glance at Ben, whose jaw has dropped.
Heat rushes into my skin as time—as this exact second, as this long arm on the face of the clock—stops. It stops just for me. Just so I can think. Just so I can look around the room, from face to stupefied face—as Ben’s jaw clenches now, Pilot’s lips curl up, Molly’s eyebrows disappear under her hairline, Teddy’s sneer vanishes, Harper’s eyes burst, Garnet’s gaze slides toward Ben—and determine exactly what they all think I do in my painting session
s each week with Dia. There is no one on Earth who could take that phrase and the way Dia said it as anything but provocative. Which means I am about to be labeled a total skank. An easy bitch. A whore. Any number of labels waiting, always waiting, on the tips of tongues. It doesn’t matter that he said it to me; it doesn’t matter that I’ve never let Dia touch me; it doesn’t matter that I’ve got a serious boyfriend with whom, let the record show, I do little more than hold hands, even when we almost spend the night together at a pretend hotel. None of that matters. Because high school whisperings are like Cania students: more spirit than flesh, indestructible, and manipulated by darkness.
The clock ticks.
I’ve got to say something before anyone else has a chance.
“I think Harper could make you feel it far better than I could, Headmaster,” I say.
Spurts of giggles tell me I’m safe. But safe from what? It’s not the whispering I care about as much as it is…what? My gaze meets Ben’s, and I find myself searching his face to see what he’s thinking. I can’t bear to face the truth: I don’t want Ben to know I may have developed the tiniest crush on Dia. Even worse? The possibility that Dia has similar feelings for me. I mean, it’s not like I’d do anything about it! Dia is a freaking devil. And, though I’ve never said it, I’m in love with Ben.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Voletto,” Harper calls from across the room, her voice oozing with sensuality that should make her blush. Dia strides her way. “Please tell us the surprise.”
“Since assuming the role of your headmaster, my team and I have been reviewing each of your files,” Dia announces to the room, “and we’ve found some truly deserving students among you. Ten of you, in fact, are superior students.”